


here we go again, I kinda wanna be more than friends

by suzukiblu



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Timeline, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bucky Barnes Needs Petted, Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Internalized Dehumanization, Master/Pet, Nonsexual Pet Play, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Pet Play, Tony Stark Has Fucked Up For The Greater Good, Unconventional Coping Methods, post-AoU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 15:57:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15076628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suzukiblu/pseuds/suzukiblu
Summary: The mission--notthe mission--finds the asset and brings it in. The asset does not resist.The asset does notmeanto resist.“It’s okay, it’s okay,” not-the-mission says, holding a hand to his red-dripping mouth. The asset’s metal knuckles match it.“It isnotokay,” Codename: The Falcon says.The asset doesn’t know which of them to believe.





	here we go again, I kinda wanna be more than friends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [steverogerswiener](https://archiveofourown.org/users/steverogerswiener/gifts).



> I started this fic _months_ prior to Civil War dropping and just truly, truly sucked about wrapping up the last couple scenes, so yeah the events of that movie and all subsequent MCU movies are totally irrelevant to the story, idc, I have no shame. Written for steverogersweiner, who wanted me to just write five hours’ worth of trash that pandered to any of our shared tastes. *cough* This, uh . . . this would be the taste I chose, though it didn’t actually end up especially trashy in the end. 
> 
> You know, like. For a given value of “trashy”.

The mission-- _not_ the mission--finds the asset and brings it in. The asset does not resist. 

The asset does not _mean_ to resist. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” not-the-mission says, holding a hand to his red-dripping mouth. The asset’s metal knuckles match it. 

“It is _not_ okay,” Codename: The Falcon says. 

The asset doesn’t know which of them to believe. 

.

.

.

Codename: Captain America _(notthemission)_ takes the asset to an unfamiliar base. On the way there, the Falcon requests that the asset consume unfamiliar pills. Captain America is upset by this, for some reason, and the asset does not know how to answer. The asset does not even know why it is being _asked_. 

No one provides this information. 

It makes an assumption, because it is certain that asking why it is being asked will be worse than assuming wrong, and opens its mouth to accept the pills. Unfamiliar pills are the least unfamiliar thing about this situation. A strange look passes over the Falcon’s face and Captain America turns away. The wrong assumption, then, the asset assumes, except then the Falcon drops the pills on its tongue and gives it a swallow off his canteen. 

The asset doesn’t understand, but it tries not to resist. 

.

.

.

It _tries_. 

.

.

.

“Bucky,” Codename: Captain America says pleadingly. He wants the asset to believe he is not just Captain America. He wants the asset to know him as the man was before. He wants the asset to let him in close enough to touch. He wants--

He wants _so much_. 

The asset can’t even imagine it. It doesn’t even know how to want _one_ thing, much less the dozens and dozens reflected in Captain America’s eyes in the moment before the asset denies him; in the moment after the asset denies him. 

It can’t imagine it at all. 

.

.

.

Captain America-- _Steve Rogers. Steve. Steve. But it’s so hard to think “Steve”._ \--Captain America gives the asset clothes and an on-site apartment and free run of the facility, and the asset is overwhelmed. Over _stimulated_. It can’t figure out which clothes are the right ones to wear or when to lie down and sleep or what food to eat in the kitchen or where to _go_ , or--any of it. All of it. 

It’s too _much_. 

So the asset does nothing. It performs physical maintenance to the best of its ability in the apartment and waits for direct questions and obvious examples and does its damnedest to read the correct answers off what Captain America gives it and hides from the rest of them--the Black Widow and War Machine and the scattered scientists and the unknown girl with lights in her hands and eyes and the unknown man who is more machine than the asset has ever been, and is so much less a machine than the asset is. 

The Falcon it answers sometimes. The Falcon knows it is not okay. The Falcon knows it is not what Captain America came looking for. 

The Falcon promised it one open door. 

“One time only,” the Falcon had told it, expression intent and eyes very serious. “You want out, I’ll let you out. You want back in after, that’s fine, we’re not gonna complain. Steve is _definitely_ not. But if you want out again after that, it’ll have to be somebody else’s door.” 

The asset hadn’t understood entirely. There was nuance it was missing, it was sure. 

But the Falcon will let it out, once. Which means it does not have to be here any longer than it wants to be here, no matter how much Captain America wants it. 

It could be somewhere else, if it ever figures out how to want to be. 

.

.

.

It still doesn’t know why the captain keeps it. 

“Bucky”. 

It’s not a man’s name, even, it’s a _child’s_ \--immature and out of date, unfashionable for this century. When people call the asset by it, it feels embarrassment and shame and self-disgust, which are not feelings it previously had access to, or ones it wants any _more_ access to either. 

Captain America tells the asset it can do whatever it likes and _be_ whatever it likes, but won’t tell the asset what it _used_ to be--“friend” is not sufficient operating procedures, does not explain enough. The word doesn’t have one clean and simple definition. None of the captain’s friends behave the same way, and the captain does not even _respond_ to them all the same way. He likes them, except when he doesn’t, and he talks to them, except when he doesn’t, and he is kind unless he’s stern or polite unless he’s rude and solemn unless he’s wry and--

It’s too much. 

The asset does not know what to _be_. Should it pick an Avenger and imitate them? Should it be looking for things the Avengers do _not_ do, to cover them? Would someone else understand it; would asking the Falcon count against its one door? It doesn’t want to use that door that way. It might still need it. 

Would anyone else even understand the question, if it asked? 

The asset is not a person. It’s too broken to be a person. It has scars all over its body and a missing arm that’s been replaced with a bolted-in, welded-on weapon. 

The asset _is_ a weapon. It has scars and a missing arm and a few ribs that were so thoroughly destroyed that HYDRA just put in plates to replace them and a fried, useless mind and a metal collarbone and missing teeth. 

It didn’t know its collarbone was metal. It didn’t even know about the teeth. Helen Cho told it. 

It wasn’t especially surprised or affected by most of those things, but hearing about the teeth bothered it. It’s spent a lot of time thinking about the fact that at some point it lost teeth, presumably while on a mission or over the course of several missions, and then HYDRA replaced those teeth. Someone in one of those labs drilled implants into its jaw and went to the trouble of putting damn _fakes_ on and making sure they were virtually indistinguishable from the asset’s real teeth. 

Why would they _do_ that? It makes no objective sense. There’s no purpose to doing goddamn _dental_ work on a goddamn _sniper_ who wears a mask every time it’s in the field. They replaced its missing teeth and let its hair grow miles past regulation length instead of buzzing it down when they shaved its face--which the asset doesn’t remember them doing, but they must’ve. It would’ve had a beard, otherwise. It has one right now, mostly because it doesn’t know how it’s expected to groom itself and no one’s told it. 

Also because it can’t remember how to use an electric razor, assuming it ever knew, and that’s what they gave it. The asset would not have given itself a straight razor either, after what it’s done even while _trying_ to be good, but that doesn’t prevent its stupid, fried brain from shutting down every time it looks at the electric one. It must be supposed to use it if the captain gave it to him, but the captain also said it could choose to do whatever it wanted, but was that even related to personal grooming? It can barely manage to comb its fucking _hair_ \--hell, it isn’t even sure it’s _showering_ often enough. 

There are all these unspoken things that everyone else in the facility knows, and the asset knows nothing about. Or has forgotten everything about. Or is just too fried-stupid to understand. 

It’s too _much_. 

The asset wants to shave its face and head and burn all its clothes and stand in a very, very hot shower until it can breathe again, or maybe a very, very cold one until it never has to breathe again at all. It wants so much. It wants so little. It wants everything, and nothing, and to know how much toothpaste is enough or to knock out all its fake teeth and if there’s a way to brush its hair without ripping half of it out of its damn _head_ in the process or to just shave it all close enough to the scalp to bleed. 

The captain said it could do whatever it wanted. 

It doesn’t understand how it’s supposed to choose. 

.

.

.

Captain America and Codename: Iron Man are fighting. Verbally--not physically. The asset follows the sound of their argument, slipping down the hall on silent feet. The AI will warn them when it is closer, but it knows the AI’s data has underestimated the range of its hearing. The AI underestimates the range of Captain America’s hearing just as often. The asset suspects the oversight is a programming error on Iron Man’s part, but has not called attention to it--Captain America would have by now if he wanted it corrected. 

“It was a _joke_ , Rogers, don’t get all moral high ground on me--” 

“Nothing about this is a joke, Stark!” the mission--the captain-- _Steve_ bites off roughly. 

“Riiight, because your method of handling the situation is going _so_ well--”

“I said it’s not a _joke_ , dammit!” Something metal reverberates violently; Iron Man sputters out a bewildered curse. There is a long, empty silence, and then the captain storms away. The asset feels an impulse to follow but stifles it as unreasonable--as undesirable. Iron Man mutters a few more curses, then retreats as well. 

The asset waits. And waits. 

And waits. 

.

.

.

The asset walks into Iron Man’s unoccupied common area. The space is not Iron Man’s workshop, but Iron Man’s workshop has encroached upon the space. 

The asset does a sweep for surveillance equipment and hidden operatives. It finds none. It does a secondary sweep for whatever might’ve upset the captain so-- _Steve_ so much, but nothing stands out as particularly unusual. None of the machines are new, tesseract-powered, or sentient-seeming, and if there are any telling files, they’ve been put away. The AI would certainly report any interference with the currently active displays either way. 

The only thing that might be of any interest to the--to _Steve_ at all is a detached blue neckpiece with an image of his shield affixed. It looks different from his usual field gear and isn’t quite the same blue, but considering what Steve has put up with from the asset, an imperfect color match seems unlikely to inspire that level of anger. 

The asset cannot imagine what _would_ anger Steve, after all the other has put up with from it. And Iron Man is a much more valuable ally than the asset. 

The asset doesn’t even count as an ally. Allies are people. The asset is a thing. 

Being a thing used to not _bother_ it. 

The asset searches the room again and still finds nothing. For lack of a better lead it returns to the neckpiece and picks it up. The neckpiece is thin and unarmored, no support, and the asset frowns. It doesn’t seem up to standard. Also, the emblem seems like it could easily get caught on any number of things in combat or even basic drills. 

The asset touches the emblem, wondering if it’s a GPS tracker or communicator, and is mildly surprised when it splits in half. There’s a second disk behind the emblem, flat and shiny like . . . dog tags? They used to wear--it _thinks_ they used to wear--

There’s writing on it. 

_New Avengers Facility, c/o Steve Rogers,_ and the captain’s private frequency and Avengers’ general emergency frequencies are both listed underneath. Not exactly the same as dog tags, then, the asset thinks. Or at least not the same as it remembers dog tags being, which doesn’t mean much. 

It rubs its flesh and blood thumb against the back of the shield emblem absently, trying to clarify the difference in its mind. The back feels engraved. It belatedly recalls that both tags are supposed to match. The back of the second tag is mirror-smooth and blank, though, with no shield to match the front of the first. 

And the _back_ of the first . . . 

_BUCKY_

The asset looks at the name. There’s nothing else--just the name. 

The asset realizes, very abruptly, that the neckpiece is not meant to be tactical gear. The neckpiece is meant to be a collar. 

The neckpiece is meant to be _the asset’s_ collar. 

The asset drops the collar. The tags clatter roughly against the counter and land half-obscured by the strap. The asset--it doesn’t understand. Is this what the captain and Iron Man were arguing about? The captain argues all the time when it’s about the asset, whether it makes sense to or not. That might explain the fight, but it doesn’t explain the collar. 

The captain said it wasn’t a joke. The captain also said the asset could be whatever it wanted-- _do_ whatever it wanted--and has explained very, very little of what the asset was to him before. 

His friend. 

That could mean fucking _anything_. 

Did it mean . . . 

The far door zips open abruptly and Iron Man storms back in, a holoscreen with Pepper Potts’s annoyed face beside him as he rants--

“Apologize for _what_ , exactly, the Greatest Generation’s great lack of--ohhhhh hell.” 

“Tony?” Pepper Potts asks, her expression immediately switching to alarm. She can’t see the asset from the angle of the screen. 

“Nothing, hey, no, all good over here,” Iron Man says says. He’s looking at the collar on the counter. The asset’s hand twitches reflexively, although it can’t place the origin of the reflex. The asset does not _twitch_. “We’re good, right, Lefty?” 

“You and the captain were arguing,” the asset says. 

“Uh boy,” Iron Man says under his breath. 

“Tony,” Pepper Potts says, her voice even but tight. 

“Nope, fine, still fine. Dammit, F.R.I.D.A.Y., we really gotta work on your priority algorithms,” Iron Man mutters, holding his hands up. It’s not quite a position of surrender, but it’s close enough to one to make the asset’s trigger finger itch. 

It’s also close enough to the firing position of the Iron Man gauntlets. 

“Yeah, we were,” Iron Man says. “Arguing is a thing we do, if your super-assassin skills hadn’t picked up on that one yet, so if that’s gonna be a problem then we might as well get it out of the way now.” 

“It wasn’t--about me?” the asset asks, thrown off by that reply. It had assumed . . . why _else_ would anyone argue with the captain? 

“Okay, well, I didn’t say _that_ , but yeah, if you weren’t here it would’ve just been something else,” Iron Man says, very briefly glancing at the collar again and almost immediately yanking his eyes back. 

So it was about the collar, then. The asset wonders why. The captain doesn’t want to tell it who it was before--is the collar part of that? “Bucky” . . . it sounds more like a pet’s name than a man’s. Maybe that’s where it came from. 

If the asset _were_ a pet, it’s been a terrible one. Pets that bite or maul get put down; maybe Iron Man was saying that they should. 

The captain was still bruised from last night this morning, so maybe Iron Man was right. 

The asset doesn’t want to be put down, but the asset didn’t know what it was supposed to be before either. If that’s what this is, if this is that thing it’s supposed to _be_ . . . 

“This is new,” it says, picking up the collar. Iron Man winces. Pepper Potts bristles, red light crackling underneath her skin and blurring the image quality of her transmission. “Where did it come from?” 

“The internet is an amazing place,” Iron Man says, going to deliberate effort to sound casual. “I mean, obviously I did the engraving in the shop, god knows we don’t want any of _those_ frequencies ending up in a forum somewhere, but--” 

“It came from you?” The asset is startled. It thought Iron Man wanted it put down or locked up. Was he actually arguing to just tell it its place? 

“What, you thought _Cap_ \--” Iron Man starts with a sardonic smirk, then cuts himself off and blinks at the asset, who tenses at the attention. It didn’t think _anything_ , it just--

Captain America wouldn’t. Obviously. 

Captain America never tells the asset anything, much less what it is. 

“Ohhhh boy,” Iron Man says, lowering his hands. He looks exasperated, but stressed around the eyes. The asset tightens its grip on the collar. “Look, okay, I don’t care how much they’re mollycoddling you or how neatly HYDRA hollowed your head out, for fuck’s sake, you _know_ Rogers wouldn’t actually slap a damn _collar_ on you--” 

“Why _not_?” the asset demands sharply. The words come out before it even thinks about them, but they’re the only words that would matter anyway. “He wants me. He _must_ want me, all the shit he’s done. How come he wouldn’t give me this?” 

“. . . wow, I am really impressed, actually, it has been a _really_ long time since I was genuinely speechless. Although I can’t really _congratulate_ you on that one, all things considered,” Iron Man says, just staring at the asset for a long moment. The asset bristles. 

“It’s got my name on it,” it says, putting the collar behind its back in an entirely irrational motion, as if taking it out of Iron Man’s sight will keep the man from taking it back. If he asked, the asset would have to give it to him; it can’t make more trouble for the captain. But--“It’s for me. Why wouldn’t he give it to me?” 

“Oh boy,” Iron Man says, dragging a hand down over his face and lifting another in the air between them. He still isn’t wearing any part of his armor’s gauntlets, but the asset’s attention immediately narrows in on that hand all the same. “Look, Sargesicle--” 

“It’s _mine_ ,” the asset cuts in, voice tight. 

“Ohhhhh boy,” Iron Man repeats, eyebrows raising. The asset wants to stab him. Just a little. Not enough to _kill_ him, probably, just--more than it currently is. That’s all. 

“It’s mine,” it repeats insistently. “Tell me why he wouldn’t give it to me.” 

“Yeah, no, Red Dawn, I am not even _slightly_ prepared to be having this conversation--” 

“Because I’m bad,” the asset realizes, expression crumpling with understanding. Of course. It’s so _stupid_. Of course the captain wouldn’t want to give it anything or tell it what to do when it’s always doing everything _wrong_. Of course--

 _“Jesus,”_ Iron Man says, raking a hand back through his hair and staring at the asset. The asset’s fingers cramp tighter around the collar. Iron Man will ask for it back, now. The asset should already have _given_ it back. 

The asset should never have touched it at all. 

“I can be good,” it says instead, blurts out in a rush. It just needed to know _how_ to, and if it’s the captain’s pet then--then it can. It knows what pets are like. _Everyone_ knows what pets are like, even fried-stupid things like the asset. 

“Jeeeeeesus,” Iron Man repeats, still staring at it. Which is _not helpful_. Not either part. 

So the asset--the asset makes the decision. 

The captain said it could make decisions now. 

“I _will_ be,” it says, then hides the collar up its sleeve and bolts. 

.

.

.

The asset goes back to the apartment that the captain-- _Steve_ \--keeps it in. It thinks about hiding the collar, but it doesn’t want to hide it. 

It wants to _wear_ it. 

It can’t bring itself to put it on itself, though. It feels . . . not allowed. If _Steve_ came in and did that right now, it would let him in an instant. It would _thank_ him for it, even. But doing it itself . . . 

The asset’s been bad. It hasn’t proved it can be good. Of course Steve doesn’t want to give a bad pet anything. 

It doesn’t know what a good pet would do right now, though. Being a pet is an objective, but the asset’s awareness of the objective is imperfect. It knows some things, but not _everything_. 

It knows that a pet wouldn’t have to stay alone in this too-big apartment that it doesn’t know how to exist in. A pet would stay with its owner. And a pet would know when to eat and drink because that would be when their owner fed and watered them, and the same for exercise and grooming and sleeping and every thing that the asset never knows when to do. The captain might even do some of those things _for_ the asset, which is a thought that makes the asset feel--strange. 

That thought makes the asset feel . . . a lot of things. 

But it still doesn’t know what it should be doing right now. 

.

.

.

The asset sits very still for a very long time and does nothing. _Is_ nothing. Is quiet and put-away and nothing. 

Eventually, though, there’s a knock. No one would knock on a pet’s door, but a pet wouldn’t _have_ a door either. The asset . . . is the asset. At least until the captain tells it differently. 

It wants the captain to tell it differently so _badly_. 

The asset opens the door. The Falcon is standing on the other side of it. 

“We maybe need to talk,” the Falcon says. 

“I don’t need a door,” the asset replies immediately, automatic. The Falcon breathes out. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I didn’t think you did. But I think we still need to talk.” 

“Okay,” the asset says, because it has nothing else to go off. It steps to the side to make room for the Falcon to enter the apartment, then closes the door behind him. The Falcon looks around like there is anything to look at, then glances back over his shoulder to the asset. The asset does nothing, because there is nothing it knows how to do. 

It wants--it wants to be a pet. It wants claws, and sharper teeth, and for Captain America to keep it. The arm could be upgraded, probably, and the fake teeth could be replaced with fangs. The asset saw the X-rays; it’d work. It would be very easy to be a pet, right now. The Falcon wouldn’t have come just to see a pet. 

The Falcon wouldn’t be so tense alone in the same room with a pet, either. Would he? 

“What’d you do with the collar?” the Falcon asks after a moment. The asset tugs it out of its sleeve unhappily to show him, sure the other is about to take it. The Falcon doesn’t, though, just looks at it and then breathes out again. “Goddammit, Stark,” he mutters under his breath, rubbing a hand back over his head. “Okay. How do you feel about that?” 

“It’s for me,” the asset says, hand tightening reflexively around it. 

“Okay,” the Falcon repeats, then stresses, “but how does it make you _feel_?” 

“Safe,” the asset says immediately. “If I--like I could be what Captain America wants.” 

“All Cap wants is for you to be _okay_ ,” the Falcon says. 

“I’d be okay,” the asset says, pressing the collar against its stomach. “I’d be _good_. I can be a good pet. That’s--I can. Let me, please.” That’s what the captain wants, he wants his pet back--obviously. Why else all this; what else would be the point? 

At this point, the asset would give him _anything_. Something like this--a promise of being kept, the safety of rules to follow, the easiness of having a _place_ again? Something like this would be nothing. Be _everything_. 

“. . . a pet like _how_ ,” the Falcon asks, very slowly. The asset blinks at him in confusion, not entirely understanding the question. How many ways to be a pet _are_ there? 

Well. There’s different ways, it guesses, looking down at the collar. It’s brightly-colored and doesn’t look dangerous at all, and the asset thinks that if it’d been black and armored or spiked, maybe . . . maybe it wouldn’t feel this way, if the collar had looked like that.

But it looks like _this_. 

“Not like a guard dog,” it replies finally, tone very careful. “Like . . .” 

It likes the Falcon. The Falcon is the captain’s friend. 

The Falcon promised it one open door. 

It can just show the Falcon, it thinks. It’d be safe to. 

“Like this,” the asset says quietly, and steps in close enough to tuck its face in against the Falcon’s shoulder and purrs, very, very quietly. Pets purr. Or at least some of them do. The soft, indoor kind that wear brightly-colored collars and don’t have to bite anyone they don’t want to. 

The Falcon doesn’t say anything for a long moment, but he doesn’t move back either. The asset thinks that means it’s okay. It purrs again, testingly, and rubs its face against the shoulder of the other’s body armor. 

“You okay there, man?” the Falcon asks after another long moment. His voice is neutral; just asking for a status report, the asset thinks. It thinks about answering vocally, but pets don’t talk, really. And the idea of not _having_ to talk feels so good--feels so _right_. 

It can’t even remember the last time something felt “right”. 

So it purrs again--a soft, indoor sound--and just pushes its face into the Falcon’s neck. 

“Okay,” the Falcon says, and puts a hand on the asset’s shoulder. The asset has a violent flash of memory of Captain America touching it like that and then staggering back with a red red mouth and the asset’s red red knuckles and--

And a pet wouldn’t hit a person for touching it. Bite, maybe, but not before it hissed or growled. And only if it didn’t _want_ touched, which . . . the asset might, it thinks. 

Want touched, it means. 

It did _this_. Of course it wants touched. And even if it didn’t, the Falcon promised it a door. The Falcon can touch it all he wants. 

And . . . again. It _wants_ the Falcon to touch it. 

So that’s okay. That’s safe, and no one has to bleed for it. 

.

.

.

They end up on the couch. The asset, in all honesty, has had very little to do with the couch. It sits on it when it thinks it should be, but it’s never really sure when that is or how to do it. The Falcon does it easily, though, relaxing back into the cushions, and he lets the asset settle in beside him and does not protest the asset’s hands or head on his thigh. 

He puts a hand on the asset’s head and smooths its hair back. Then he does it again, and again, even though it can’t possibly still be--oh. 

The Falcon is _petting_ it. 

They stay like that for a while. The asset would admit freely to basking in it if asked, but the Falcon does not ask. 

“Is this it?” the Falcon asks eventually, curling his fingers in the soft place at the corner of the asset’s jaw. The asset pushes into the contact. “This is what you meant?” 

“Uh-huh,” the asset breathes, just barely nodding against the other’s thigh. This, and--

Captain America will tell him he’s good, if he wears the collar. Captain America will _think_ he’s good if he wears the collar. Captain America will put the collar _on_ him and do _this_ and call him--

“Good boy,” the Falcon says, very, _very_ carefully. The asset stills. 

The Falcon breathes out, and the asset thinks it might cry. Assets don’t, of course, and neither do pets. Not the way the asset wants to. But it might anyway. It shoves its face into the Falcon’s leg and burrows in tight against him, curling its arms underneath itself and pinning them down when they can’t be violent. 

The Falcon keeps petting it for a long, long time. 

.

.

.

The asset falls asleep like that, like it’s easy, and sleeps for a very long time. 

.

.

.

“I have no idea what to do about this,” Captain America says. 

“I’d say do what he wants, man,” the Falcon says. The asset is half-dozing, aware that they’re talking but not really caring about listening. It’s not important, and anyway, a pet wouldn’t bother. Besides, it’s comfortable and it doesn’t feel like moving. The Falcon’s hand is on its back, and its body feels heavy and warm. 

“Does he even _know_ what he wants?” Captain America asks. It sounds bitter, and _that’s_ enough to make the asset open its eyes. If it’s a pet, Captain America is its master. And a pet wouldn’t want to hear its master sounding like that. It lifts its head just enough to peer over at Captain America, and it’s met with sad, heavy eyes and an expression it can’t fully understand. Captain America--

Steve, the asset thinks to itself. A pet wouldn’t call its master by a codename. 

Steve is sitting on the coffee table in front of them, in closer than the asset’s let anyone in a while--barring the current obvious exception of the Falcon. It wonders why it didn’t wake up sooner, but the Falcon’s lap-- _Sam’s_ lap--is so comfortable, and why _would_ a pet have woken up sooner? 

“Hey, Buck,” Steve says quietly, his mouth curving into a weak smile. The asset stares searchingly at him, wondering what’s wrong. It doesn’t think it did anything. 

“Yes,” it says anyway, because pets don’t talk but it’s not an entirely normal pet. It can say a word or two. The important ones, at least. 

Steve gets an even stranger expression on his face when he hears the asset speak, so the asset’s not sure if it was worth it. But then Steve’s pushing a hand up its arm to squeeze its shoulder and then obviously, yes, it was definitely worth it, it was _more_ than worth it. The asset pushes into the contact with a purr, and Steve squeezes its shoulder again. 

“Okay,” he says in an oddly thick voice that makes the asset want to climb into his lap and do--well, whatever a pet would do to comfort its master. Lick his face? Nuzzle him? Purr some more? Something like one of those, or maybe just all three of them and then even more. Steve should have more, he remembers vaguely, from what little he’s ever remembered. Steve should _always_ have more. 

“Okay?” the asset repeats, searching the other’s face for an answer. If there’s one there, it’s one that’s too complicated for him to figure out. 

“Yeah, Bucky, of course it’s okay,” Steve says. And well, that’s good enough, isn’t it? If Steve says so, then it must be so. 

The asset purrs, the sound low and cracked in its throat, and leans down to nuzzle the hand Steve still has on its shoulder. Steve squeezes it again, then turns his hand to stroke carefully along the asset’s cheek. The asset purrs encouragingly, pressing into the contact. 

“Stark owes me super-soldier-grade cat toys,” Steve mutters, and Sam lets out a huffed laugh. The asset peers up at them briefly, not really understanding the joke, but doesn’t mind as long as Steve’s still petting it and Sam’s hand is still on its back. It feels warm and safe and like no one else could ever touch it. That’s not true, it knows--but it _feels_ it. 

It’s a nice feeling. 

“What’d you do with the collar?” Steve asks Sam, and the asset pulls it out of its sleeve again to show him. It’d liked Sam petting it, but not enough to give him _that_. Not if Sam wasn’t going to order it. “Ah. Thanks, Bucky.” 

It feels nice to be thanked, too, and the asset ponders the feeling as Steve reaches out with the hand not petting it and takes the collar. It doesn’t mind Steve taking it; Steve’s the only person it would _never_ mind taking it. It doesn’t even feel like hitting him. 

A pet wouldn’t feel that way, obviously. 

“Hey,” Steve says as he leans down, his voice very gentle. “Are you good?” 

The asset nods immediately, eyes widening. Yes. Please. It wants so _badly_ to be. 

“Okay,” Steve says, and very carefully fastens the collar around its neck. The asset almost _thrums_ with joy, and then remembers--it’s a pet, it can _do_ things with the way it feels. So it throws itself at Steve and licks his face, and Steve huffs in surprise and grabs onto it in return. 

Well--him, maybe, the asset thinks. A pet would be a “him”, wouldn’t it? 

And not an asset. 

“Jesus, okay,” Steve says. “Okay. Bucky--” 

_“Steve,”_ the pet says, and throws his arms around him. Steve makes a choked noise, and wraps his arms around him in return. 

It feels just like being safe. 

“Good boy,” Steve says roughly, and the pet _purrs_.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr!](http://suzukiblu.tumblr.com/)


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